Draco Malfoy: The Wizarding World's Only (Shite) Detective
by A.J. Kelly
Summary: Wherein Draco discovers Sherlock Holmes and fancies himself a detective. One-Shot, Slash, Harry/Draco, Language, blatant abuse of Sherlock Holmes.


_A/N: Hello everyone! This is just a little One-Shot I had to get out of my head. It's the shortest I've ever written, and not my best. But the image of Draco in a deerstalker hat and with a pipe wouldn't leave me alone. Enjoy!_

Disclaimer: _The Harry Potter Series_ and all recognisable characters belong to J.K Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, Scholastic Publishing, and all other associates. _Sherlock Holmes_ belongs to Arthur Conan Doyle and his estate. No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended. Only this rather lame plot is mine.

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Draco Malfoy: The Wizarding World's Only (Shite) Detective

The light switched on over Harry's head, and he squinted against the brightness.

"If you confess, I'll make this easy on you," a voice said from the darkness.

"What's going on? Come on, Draco, this is ridiculous," Harry tried to reason.

Draco's blond head came into the light and Harry had to hold back a laugh at the image his boyfriend made: trench coat, Deerstalker hat, pipe, and all.

"What are you wearing?"

"I'm asking the questions here, Potter. Where are they?"

"I really have no idea what you're talking about," Harry said.

"Oh I think you do," Draco said in a menacing tone that Harry would have respected if Draco hadn't looked so ridiculous. Draco grabbed Harry's hand and inspected it closely, peering under the nails, running his slim fingers across his lifeline. Harry held back a shiver at the feeling and ignored the tightening of his pants.

"Ah, yes, my superior deduction skills have… deduced… things," Draco ended, lamely. But he puffed out his chest and barrelled on. "You were jealous. I had what you so longed to possess, and in a fit of jealous rage you stole what was rightfully mine!"

"I knew giving you those _Sherlock Holmes_ books would be a mistake," Harry muttered.

"Do you deny it? Do you deny that last night, at midnight when you knew I'd be fast asleep after you'd shagged me into unconsciousness – as was no doubt your plan from the start – you crept down to the kitchen, opened up the cupboard and _ate my dark chocolate Digestives_? Then once you had finished, you knew that you couldn't just throw the wrapper away where I'd find it. So you thought quickly. You hid it in your workbag and threw the wrapper away at the Ministry, didn't you? You thought you'd committed the perfect crime, but you weren't prepared for me, were you? Draco Malfoy: Detective, were you? Huh?" Draco grabbed the table lamp that he had fashioned into an interrogation lamp and aimed it right into Harry's eyes.

"Bloody hell, Draco, watch where you point that thing!"

"Not until you confess! I don't do favours for criminals."

"I'm not a criminal, I haven't done anything!"

"Don't lie, you ate my Digestives and disposed of the wrapper where you thought I'd never look. But I'm brilliant and perfect and I've got you figured out," Draco growled.

"I never touched your biscuits, you know I prefer the milk chocolate ones, anyway."

"You think I'll fall for that," Draco sneered. "I'm brilliant –"

"So brilliant you're afraid of the doorbell, right?"

"That Muggle monstrosity is barbaric!" Draco bit back, raising his nose in the air in a defensive gesture that always made Harry want to kiss him. "I am not an animal and one does not announce their presence with a horrible ring and expect me to come running. It is plebeian."

"Yes, that really explains way you screamed like a girl when that salesman rang last week."

"Don't change the subject," Draco shrieked. "Admit you ate my Digestives and I won't make you sleep on the couch tonight. If you don't, I… I won't let you shag me for a week."

"I never touched your Digestives, you git."

"Liar! I've deduced the truth. I am a brilliant detective, and you've chocolate under your nails!"

"One, you've deduced nothing and reading _Sherlock Holmes_ does not make you a detective—"

"I've read them twice; if that doesn't qualify me, I don't see what would."

"Exactly. Two, you may be brilliant at a lot of things, love, but crime fighting certainly isn't your area. And three, that chocolate under my nails is from the cake Roberts brought in today, not your damned biscuits. Which, I'll repeat, I did not eat."

"That's it, it's the couch for you tonight," Draco said with a sniff. He took a deep draw of the pipe, and immediately started coughing.

"And apparently you're a shite smoker, as well," Harry added. "Did you look—"

"That's enough from you. You're obviously in denial. You have a problem. What else have you been stealing from me? My socks? Pants? I've noticed my conditioner has been disappearing rather quickly, are you using that as well? How can I trust you now?"

"I haven't stolen anything, you fucking arse!" Harry growled. "Did you check the rest of the cupboards? Did you misplace them? Or maybe you ate all of them. Because I haven't touched your fucking biscuits!"

"Of course I checked the cupboards, and it isn't anywhere near it's normal spot, which leads me to believe –"

"It leads you to fancy yourself a detective and concoct this ridiculous scheme to make up for the fact that you misplaced your biscuits."

"I haven't."

"Then check the kitchen again. I bet five galleons you didn't look hard enough."

"Deflecting, again."

"I'm not bloody deflecting. You check the damned kitchen or I'll never fuck _you_ again," Harry said, throwing Draco's threat back at him.

Draco's nostrils flared and he pursed his mouth. He didn't like not being the one in control, but Harry knew he had him. Draco threw out threats all the time, but never once had Harry slept on the couch as a punishment. At least alone. The few times he had been sent to the couch, he always woke up with a blond companion cuddled into his side. And withholding sex was even more of an idle threat than the couch. That just punished both of them.

"Fine, I'll check the kitchen, but I'll show you," Draco growled. For extra measure he poked his finger into Harry's chest before he walked away.

Almost immediately the house was filled with the sounds of cupboards being thrown open and all the contents being tossed onto the floor. Harry knew – just _knew _– that Draco was vindictively making as much of a mess as possible.

It went on for a minute. And then everything was silent.

Harry sat and waited until five minutes later when Draco came back without the coat, hat, and pipe. He switched on the overhead lights, sat down in his chair, and grabbed the nearest thing to him, which happened to be a book on the history of the Chudley Cannons so Harry knew he was just trying to avoid the issue.

"Well?" he asked.

Draco stiffened and turned a page of the book. "Well, what?"

"You found them, didn't you? Right where they should have been?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Potter."

"Right. So, if I were to go into the kitchen now, I'll just…"

"Wait!" Draco sat up in the seat, grabbed Harry's wrist and pulled him down into his lap. Before Harry could protest his lips were covered and soon parted with an eager and, frankly, thoroughly distracting tongue.

Harry managed to control himself and push away from Draco long enough to pin him with a _look._ "Now that the underwhelming case of the not-quite-missing biscuits has been solved, should I expect a return of Mr Sherlock Holmes? Because, honestly, my insane boyfriend is enough for me."

"Fuck off," Draco muttered.

"Well, one thing I have certainly learned: I'll never let you read anything again. You obviously take stories too seriously."

"I do not!" Draco protested.

"What about the time I had you read _Lord of the Rings_ and you decided you were Legolas?"

"Don't tell me you didn't enjoy playing Aragorn," Draco replied.

Harry blushed at the vivid memories that brought up, but continued on. "Or _Peter Pan_ and you tried to learn how to fly without a broom?"

"My wrist still hurts from that fall when it's cold outside."

"Or _Hamlet _when you spoke like you were in a Shakespeare play for a _week_?"

"That was mostly Granger's fault."

"See? You obviously can't be trusted with fiction. It's potion books and instruction manuals from now on," Harry said forcefully. Draco frowned, but nodded his agreement.

"Good," Harry said. "Now get up, you're helping me clean the kitchen."

Draco pouted and made a show of slowly getting up from the chair, but Harry ignored him and started walking towards the kitchen, knowing that was the only way to ensure Draco would follow. He was almost to the door before Draco spoke up.

"So does that mean I can't read the James Bond books Granger told me about?"

Harry blinked, looked back at his blond boyfriend, and quickly closed the gap.

The kitchen wasn't cleaned that day.

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_A/N: I hope you enjoyed it! Please review!_


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